


Frost Bite

by PinkViking



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Chapter 3, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Smut, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 11:05:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18119549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkViking/pseuds/PinkViking
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple hunting trip, that was until golden boy, John Marston weaseled his way into coming along, almost ruining everything and freezing to death in the process.





	Frost Bite

It was going to be simple. Bison were an easy hunt. Sure they were big and strong, but if you got the drop on them, caught them when they didn't expect it, you could usually take them down in a hit or two before the beast could attack, or worse, run. Taking things down was one of Arthur’s few talents, it was his role in life, and that was exactly why he was so confident he could take on the legendary white bison marked on Hosea’s map. 

That was, until golden boy John Marston got wind of his little outing and begged and pleaded to come along. Said he was going stir crazy being cooped up at camp while his wounds healed. Said he was doing much better. It was true. His stitches were removed that same morning and he certainly was more spritely already. 

Arthur tried so hard to deter the boy at first. “It'll be cold. It'll be boring. There'll be wolves. You’ll have to look at my ugly mug for three days.” None of it phased him. In fact John was already getting changed and packing his horse for the trip as though Arthur had said yes. 

In the end it was Abigail who had convinced him to take John along. Complaining that he was driving her insane with his constant moping and sulking. Abigail looked desperate for some respite. How could Arthur say no to her? 

The excitement on John’s face when Arthur muttered “dress warm and get on ya horse,” pulled at his heart a little. Made his usual frown curl upwards at the edges, just slightly, into what could almost be called a smile, until he watched John fumble with his guns and equipment, dropping a rifle at his feet. Then the grimace quickly returned. Arthur raised his hand to his temple and pinched hard, already regretting his decision. 

With a sigh, Arthur hoisted himself onto his Arabian. “Let’s go.”

They rode hard and fast for hours, only stopping to make camp for the night when the sun had set and it was so dark out it was hard to see more than an inch ahead. It was a long and treacherous trip into the snowy Ambarino mountains, there was no way they could do it in a single day, no matter how hard Arthur willed it.

Arthur had caught them a couple of pheasants for supper and the two men tore into the roasted game with hungry mouths. Arthur not wasting the opportunity to lecture John on the dangers they could come across up in the snow. He was almost pleading with the younger man to try, for once, not to be an idiot. John just flicked his hand dismissively and rolled his eyes, like he'd heard it all before. It was this attitude that drove Arthur insane but he didn't argue, instead he occupied his mouth with finishing his meal, chewing aggressively at the sinewy meat. 

After supper they slept back to back on one small bedroll in one small tent. John’s back, pressed flush against Arthur's, was warm and welcome. It filled that quiet part inside the older man that longed for some kind of physical connection without having to actively seek it. Despite the discomfort of laying on the floor and the chill biting at his bones, he slept relatively well.

When morning came Arthur was the first to rise, as usual. He let John rest a little longer as he began clearing the temporary camp of their belongings, and when the boy refused to stir fifteen minutes later, Arthur pressed the toe of his boot to John’s side and shoved him. Hard. John jolted awake with a yelp. Bleary, sleep glazed eyes glaring up at him. 

Arthur loomed over the man, tilting his head towards the horses and John got the hint. It was time to continue on. 

The remainder of the journey was short but cold. Arthur was dressed appropriately, of course, but John, the idiot, thought a sheepskin jacket, shirt and jeans would be enough to warm his skinny body, obviously forgetting just how cold and unforgiving Ambarino could be. 

“Ain't too late for you to turn around and go home.” Arthur called over the wind when he noticed John’s teeth chattering in his skull and his hands rubbing furiously at his arms. 

Their horses were now struggling through meters of snow, dramatically slowing their pace. 

“Shut it, Morgan. I'm fine.” John snapped back as he cupped his hands to his mouth, blowing warm breath against his fingertips. Arthur chuckled, knowing John was just being stubborn. 

The two men pressed on.

Lake Isabella was close now and a little up from there was where the Bison was last seen, however the further North they traveled the stronger the wind howled. A small blizzard was forming. This didn't deter Arthur, they were so close, they'd track the big bastard and leave before it became an issue, but he was concerned about John.

They stopped their horses at the edge of the frozen lake and Arthur hopped off first, swinging his carbine rifle over his shoulder. John followed suit. 

“We leave the horses here and travel by foot around the—” 

A howl filled the air around them, echoing through the mountain peaks. Arthur raised a hand to John, halting him, his other hand to his lips as he shushed between his teeth. He could see John’s expression. Utter panic at the sound of the beasts.

“Arthur…” John started.

“Quiet.”

Nothing. Nothing. Then another howl. Followed by the familiar snarling of grey wolves. Arthur first saw the pack rushing at them down the mountains from behind. Four in total. Not too bad, but if they didn't act fast more could be on the way. Then they really would be fucked.

If they could get onto their horses and ride fast they may be safe, but Arthur had forgotten for a brief moment that he was in the presence of John Marston, most useless outlaw in the West.

John, in his panic, had pulled out his pistol and began shooting in the direction of the wolves, not hitting a single shot, and startling the horses in the process, sending the frightened animals off across the lake and out of sight.

“Fuck! John, you fuckin’ idiot,” Arthur shouted grabbing the boy roughly by the collar of his jacket, tugging, then pushing him towards the ice-coated lake. “Get the horses,” he instructed as he turned and shot a few rounds into the pack, hitting one but missing three in his haste. 

John scrambled to keep his footing on the ice as he slid in the direction the horses. Arthur was slowly following, one step at a time, never turning his back from the wolves as he continued to pull the trigger. He hit another two. Killing one and badly injuring the other. Only one more beast left. 

The final wolf looked hesitant, taking a step forward before reconsidering, turning and fleeing, tail between it’s legs. Smart dog.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief and turned around, wobbly on his feet. “You catch them horses yet, shit-for-brains?” He called, eyebrow cocking when he noticed John standing, with his back to him, as still as a sculpture. “What on Earth are you doin’, boy?”

“Morgan…” John said quietly, tilting his head over his shoulder, “the ice is cracking, what do I do?”

Large thick cracks had spiraled out from under the man. New branches appearing with even the smallest of movements. Arthur could see they were concentrated under and around John’s boots, meaning he didn't have much time to come up with a plan.

“Just, just stay still, okay? Let me think.” He looked left and right, trying to find inspiration from his surroundings but nothing sprang to mind. For once Arthur didn't know what to do. Not that it mattered as the thin layer beneath John’s feet gave way, sending the man plunging down into the freezing water.

“John!” Arthur yelled rushing forward without so much as a second thought. He could hear the ice cracking under his weight with every step he took, but he didn't stop. Couldn't stop. The only thing on his mind was to get to John.

Arthur threw himself onto his belly, arm dunking into the freezing, wet abyss, hand groping around in the dark until he hit something solid, it had to be John. Arthur gripped and tugged and, in a spray of water and ice, John had resurfaced, gasping for air, limbs flailing. 

“Calm, calm.” Arthur panted as though he was talking to a frightened animal. He gripped the man under his arms with both hands and pulled, dragging him out and onto the ice. He didn't stop dragging John’s body until he was certain they were on solid ground. 

He laid the younger man out and cupped his cheeks, shaking him gently. “Marston, you okay?” The man’s skin was frozen to the touch, whole body shaking. “Can you sit?” Arthur helped John sit up and began peeling off his soggy fleece jacket. He had no idea if what he was doing was the right thing to do, he just knew if he didn't do something fast John might not survive. Arthur shucked off his own thick winter coat and draped it around John's shoulders and then stood to his feet, whistling for his horse, hoping the mare wasn't too far away to hear his call. 

Arthur wasn't a religious man, but he thanked the heavens when his white Arabian emerged from the dense shrubbery, stopping at the edge of the unstable ice. John’s horse was nowhere to be seen, but one horse was better than none. 

“C’mon.” Arthur grunted as he helped John to his feet. The man was so weak from the cold he was basically dead weight and Arthur did struggle keeping him upright. “Gotta get you somewhere warm and fast,” he walked his shivering companion to the mare, helping him up and onto the saddle. Arthur grabbed the reins, leading them further North.

The closest place Arthur could think to go, that he knew would be warm and safe, was a little shack by Cairn Lake. He was confident it would be empty because, not all that long ago, Arthur had paid it a visit, taking out a once famed gunslinger, Flaco Hernandez, whom had been residing there. 

They would stay there until John was okay again.

“Talk to me, John.” Arthur said gently, trying to keep the boy’s attention on him as they travelled against the frost bitten wind.

“It… it's so cold,” was all John could muster. 

“I know.”

They continued towards the shack, Arthur keeping up idle chit chat and patting at the boy’s knee whenever he looked to be slipping into sleep. John’s pants were soaked through and ice was starting to form on the fabric. Arthur was cold too but he couldn't imagine how bad John felt. They needed to hurry. If the wind and snow picked up it would be hard to navigate their way to the hut.

“Look, Marston,” Arthur said loudly, a bit of a cheer in his voice as the roof of the shack appeared in the horizon. “Almost there, eyes open, don't you dare close ‘em.” 

“M’tryin’.” John’s voice a weak slur.

Arthur knew no one had been to the shack since his last visit because the door was unlocked and swung open easily when he pushed at the wood. Dust and cool air escaping from the tiny one room hut. It smelt of death and was covered in cobwebs but he wasn't going to complain. This was the best they had right now. 

“C’mere.” Arthur reached his arms up to John and helped him off the horse. The man was frozen stiff, skin pale and almost blue. Arthur thought he was probably on the brink of death. When John was stable Arthur grabbed his saddle bags and bed roll and guided the younger man to the entrance.

Once inside Arthur closed the door firmly, shutting out the wind and snow and then began preparing the space by pulling the creaky old metal framed bed across the room and close to the fireplace and laying his bedroll onto the ground. 

“Get undressed.” He ordered and John weakly obeyed. 

As he waited, Arthur began throwing any wooden and combustible items he could find into the fireplace. From his journal, which he always kept in his satchel, he tore blank pages, scrunching them and stuffing them between the heaped pile. Using a match he lit the paper and, thankfully, it took. The fire burnt strong and fast. 

Arthur turned to check on John’s progress. The young man had only managed to remove Arthur's coat and was struggling with the rest of the wet clothes, fingers trembling too much to undo the buttons of his shirt. The fabric was stuck fast against his frozen skin. 

Arthur huffed and brought an arm up to John’s shoulder pulling him in close to the fire. It was like taking care of an adult child.

“Let me help.” He said, voice almost a little shy. 

“I got it.” John shuddered between each word.

“Just shut up,” and John did.

The moment felt surreal and strangely intimate. Both men were quiet. The only sounds around them were coming from the crackling of the fire and John’s rattling bones. Arthur quickly but gently unbuttoned the wet shirt, acutely aware that John was staring at him, and slipped it off the man's stiff shoulders. It dropped to the floor with a loud, wet splat. John’s skin was covered in tiny goosebumps and Arthur fought back the temptation to brush his fingers against them. There wasn't time for thoughts like that. 

“Arms up,” Arthur said and lifted John's singlet up and over his head. 

Next, John's boots. Arthur crouched and brought a hand to the back of John's leg, bending his knee to lift his foot. John reached a hand down to grip Arthur's broad shoulder, using the older man’s body to keep his balance. The boot was stuck tight and it took some wiggling but finally it was dislodged and discarded across the room. The second boot came off much easier. 

Socks were peeled off without an issue. 

Before removing John’s pants Arthur reached over to the little nest he'd created in front of the fire and grabbed an old blanket he'd found on the bed earlier, throwing it over John’s wet hair and shoulders. “Cover up,” he smiled softly and John wrapped himself up in a bundle, seeming to melt into the fire warmed cotton. 

“Feels so good,” he said to no one in particular. 

“I can imagine. You're as cold as a corpse.” Arthur commented as he unbuckled John’s belt, throwing it into the soggy clothing pile which was starting to form in the corner of the room. 

Trying to avoid any awkwardness, Arthur made quick work of John's zipper and pulled his pants down, then helped the man step out of them. John was now standing there in just his underwear and a blanket. 

“Can I sit down now?” John asked with a shiver.

“Sure, after you get out of those wet briefs.” The words and mental image made Arthur blush. “You can do that on your own right?”

John rolled his eyes and turned around to shuck his underwear off, quickly wrapping the musty old blanket across his body to keep his modesty, he then sat on the bed roll, back against the metal bed, face to the flames. A soft little sound of pleasure escaped from John's throat. Arthur had never seen someone look so relieved in his life. 

“Better?” He asked as he sat to the floor, back against the wall. Arthur was cold without his thick coat which was still damp, but he had no right to the warmth of the fire while John was overcoming near hypothermia. 

“Gettin’ there.” John hunched over and leaned his arms on his knees, “Arthur…” 

“John?”

“I'm real sorry. I thought I was ready but the wolves, they, they got to my head and I...” 

“It ain't nothin’.” Arthur interjected. John seemed genuinely distressed about it and now wasn't the time to hold a grudge. Sure his hunting trip was ruined. Sure he didn't get so much as a glimpse of the Legendary Bison, but John was alive and safe and Arthur was thankful for that. 

“I am sorry though.” 

“I know.”

The room was quiet again and Arthur took the opportunity to take out his journal, scribbling notes and sketching images of the four wolves. The cool air in the room had his fingers freezing up, making it hard to draw, so occasionally Arthur brought them to his mouth to puff body warmed breath against them. 

“You cold?” John asked, he must have noticed. 

“It's fine. Don't worry about me.”

“Well there’s plenty of room over here.” John shifted over making space on the bedroll and Arthur considered the proposal. There really was enough room for the two of them, no point in catching a chill over in the corner, so Arthur crawled over, sitting close, shoulder flush against John's. 

Instantly Arthur appreciated the warmth from the fire and body against his flank, and thought John must have too because the boy pressed in closer, trying to get as much contact as he could. Dark eyes were lidded with exhaustion and he could see John was struggling to stay awake. Arthur decided it was probably safe for him to nap now that his body temperature had risen.

“You can sleep, if you want.” Arthur muttered as he opened his journal again to continue his sketch. 

“I think I might. Just for a bit.” John nestled in close, head leaning against Arthur's upper chest and his eyes fluttered closed. It felt nice. Arthur found he quite enjoyed the nearness of the other man. It stirred up something curious and warm deep within his belly that he couldn't quite pinpoint. 

John ended up sleeping for hours. 

Arthur spend the time writing, describing his thoughts and the days events on the pages of his journal. It had been a while since he really sat down and wrote so he was kind of thankful John was using his body as a pillow, it gave him no choice but to put pen to paper. 

“What ya writing about?” John’s voice was a murmur as he stirred from sleep. 

“About what a dumb ass you are.” Arthur teased and closed the book when he saw John trying to sneak a peek. “Ain't you ever been told it's rude to read another man's journal?” Arthur scolded as he moved the book out of John’s reach.

“And it's rude to write about another man while he's sleepin’!” John retaliated, one arm stretching across Arthur's lap to snatch the journal, and the quick little bastard got it too. 

“John, give it back. I'm serious.” Arthur said sternly but the brat ignored him, opening the book to the most recent page, studying the words and pictures intensely.

“You're a good artist.” He mused as he brushed a hand over the sketch of the wolves, “almost looks real.”

Arthur grabbed John's wrist hard and pulled, causing the book to drop from his hands and the blanket to slip from his shoulders in the process, skin on show. Arthur was suddenly and painfully reminded just how naked John was under the sheets but he gulped the dark thoughts down. 

“You can’t go nosying through property that ain't yours.” He was still holding John’s arm, their faces close and he could feel the soft breaths from between John’s lips against his own. Arthur’s eyes raked down John’s face and chest before he could realize he was doing it. John shifted closer.

“Arthur,” John’s voice was soft and breathy and it caught Arthur's attention, his eyes snapping back up, “I'm sorry.” 

How could he be mad at John when he spoke to him like that. The soft, pathetic tone of his voice did things to Arthur's insides, twisting his guts into knots. Suddenly all he wanted to do was ravish the boy.

“It's fine.” Arthur grunted and released John's wrist but John didn't move out from his space like Arthur expected. 

“I should probably thank you too, for savin’ me.” The words were a whisper while John traced his hands across Arthur's broad chest, thumb rubbing softly over Arthur clothed nipple. 

Arthur bit his lip and shook his head. “It's fine.” He repeated but this time his voice caught in his throat because John was leaning in to press a soft, chaste peck to Arthur’s lips, then another shortly after when the older man didn't pull away in disgust. 

“What are you doing?” Arthur said as John’s lips pressed to his a third time. He couldn't tear himself away, as much as he thought he should. Arthur had never considered laying with another man before, but right now the idea didn't seem so bad. His hardening prick certainly liked the thought of it anyway. 

“Thankin’ you.” John answered, “just accept it.”

And Arthur did.

Arthur snaked an arm around his companion’s slim waist, pulling him up and onto his lap and John straddled him without protest. The younger man's hands slid up his chest to cup at Arthur’s face, holding him still as he leaned in for another kiss. This time Arthur participated, sliding his tongue into the younger man's mouth, pulling a little whine from deep in John’s throat. The wet muscle slid against John's, urging it to play along. John occasionally giving Arthur's tongue a little suckle before widening his mouth to deepen the kiss. It drove Arthur mad with lust. 

As they kissed, Arthur’s hands lowered, grabbing fistfuls of the plush mounds of John's ass and he dragged his hips forward, noting how warm and flush John's skin felt compared to only hours ago. The movement created friction between their bodies and Arthur could feel John’s hardened length prodding against his own. It was a foreign feeling, but a welcome one and Arthur did it again just because he could. 

Soft little gasps fell from John’s slack mouth as he began a rolling motion with his hips in return, trying to get more and Arthur was struggling to control himself. He'd never seen John like this before, so lost in pleasure. It was beautiful. 

“Wanna see you.” John keened and he squirmed back in Arthur's lap to give himself access to what he was after. Slender hands pushed aside the blankets that had pooled between them, letting it drop to the side, his full body on show for Arthur who drank it all in through lidded eyes.

Arthur chewed his bottom lip at the sight of John's exposed cock. It was thick and dark with desire and had Arthur's tongue darting out to lick at his lips. He'd never wanted to touch another man’s prick so badly in his life but he didn't dare, instead he let John take the reins and watched as the boy cupped and squeezed at Arthur’s bulge. It was pressed hard against the fabric beneath him, straining to break free. 

The way John was touching him was tentative and curious at first, like he was getting a feel for it, studying Arthur's size. The boy keeping his mouth occupied by licking and sucking at the older man's neck hungrily, fingers on his clothed cock never ceasing their exploration. It felt so good and Arthur’s hips grew a mind of their own, bucking up against the hand.

This gave John confidence and he got to work unbuckling the belt and sliding down the zipper of Arthur's pants, Arthur’s own stiff, leaking prick bouncing free from its fabric prison. John whined happily at the view. His hand gripped both their lengths together and jerked them off with long, slow pulls. Wrist twisting over the heads before sliding back down again. The pace quickened as both men drew close. Arthur canted up into the sensation, rutting his cock against John’s own, loving the soft velvety feel of skin against skin.

Both men were grinding together and moaning, filling the small hut with the sounds of sex. 

“Fuck, John.” Arthur leaned in for another kiss, sucking and nipping at the man's lower lip whilst they panted into each other's mouths and, with a strangled choke, Arthur was coming over his shirt and onto John’s hand.

The sight and feel of it must have set John off because moments later he too was releasing with a soft, sweet whine, strings of come coating the space between them, mixing in with Arthur's own seed. 

John slumped over, head resting on Arthur’s shoulder as he caught his breath. Arthur himself pressed against the metal bed frame, head tilted back as he came down from the high of his orgasm.

“I guess you've warmed up then?” was all he could think to say and John laughed. “Maybe you should fall into the ice more often?”

“Shut up.” John shoved Arthur’s chest playfully but otherwise didn't move. 

Arthur reached over and grabbed the old blanket, draping it over John’s naked frame and tucked it around them both.

“Maybe we could try again tomorrow,” John said quietly against Arthur's neck. Sounding like he was on the verge of sleep again.

“Oh?” Arthur looked sidelong at the man and cocked an eyebrow. 

“I mean the bison, pervert.” 

“Oh.” Arthur laughed and idly ran his fingers through John's dark locks. “Yeah. I reckon that’s a good idea.”

Maybe bringing the golden boy on this trip wasn't such a bad decision after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno. I kinda just wanted to write something quick and fun before starting a bigger more serious story haha. 
> 
> Also, damn I struggle with summaries so bad lmao X_X
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the read. Please feel free to leave any comments, feedback and/or kudos! 
> 
> It’s always appreciated! <3


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